


All The Best Intentions... and None

by human_wreckage



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Crimes of Grindelwald, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/human_wreckage/pseuds/human_wreckage
Summary: Following Grindelwald's rally in Paris, excerpts from Nurmengard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers, obviously. Last chance to turn back!

  This dark power. He feels it in his blood, in the creaking of his bones under the straining and tearing of tremendous energy encased in his body, under his skin. Grindelwald gives him the wand— _ his  _ wand. The length of it is odd at first, heavier at the end with the jewel.

_ “Aurelius… Aurelius Dumbledore.” _

   It competes with the image of the phoenix maturing in Grindelwald’s flames, and with Nagini pleading with him not to go. But the name: this is the secret of his magic; Aurelius  _ Dumbledore. _

   When he points the wand, he sparks off the power under his skin—it’s not a match, it’s a bonfire thrown into a keyhole—and he watches, satisfaction growing at the  _ rightness _ of seeing the stone mountain face burst open like a dropped egg. He has been missing this focal point all his life and now he’s sure he’ll never let it go.

   There’s a voice that says his name—or his  _ former _ name, he hasn’t decided—and he turns, knowing she hears every thought he has the moment he has them. She’s kind to him in the way the Auror was, when she stopped Mary Lou that time and again in the subway; the similarity is familial, he thinks. He’s been quietly, greedily observing nice families for so long he wondered when it started. “Oh,” she says, almost whimsical, “You’re thinkin’ about Tina. She’s my sister, y’know? Who’d ‘a thought me and you would end up here—an’ together no less… Well, not me, at least…”

  He catches the little convulsion of bitter loss and grief as it flashes across her face. Just as soon as it comes, she forces it away with a paper-thin but undeniably beautiful smile, saying: “I’m Queenie, by the way. Queenie Goldstein. I could fix you somethin’ to eat or see if there’s somewhere you could wash up—” He’s distracted by the church Mary Lou kept the Barebones in. Queenie, and she really can hear thoughts, hears the woman in his memory. Nothing specific, just the duality of her affection and annoyance with him, a constant worry of whether she would smooth his hair or slap his cheek.

“How awful,” Queenie says, as if he’s re-lived it all aloud. She’s gentle when she takes his hand, gentle when she speaks, “I don’t know what’ll happen here, but you got a friend in me. Now, how ‘bout a quick bite of dinner…?” 

   He lets her lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's way too much time between now and the next movie! I need answers! But Credence|Aurelius needs a hug and clothes that fit him right and some more _hair_ (not a bowl-cut, obviously). Queenie... *sighs* Queenie needs a hug and the picture-perfect wedding of her dreams without a war to get it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like this story wants another chapter... I just really needed Queenie's side.

  The world had been so loud when Vinda touched her shoulder, and if Queenie had to compare the din of her powers when she was at her lowest to a noise a non-legilimens might understand, she had heard that the howl of a tornado was really something. In comparison, the Nurmengard castle is as quiet as a church yard. There’s Credence… or Aurelius—maybe he’ll let her call him Aury, because, well, Aurelius just doesn’t trip off the tongue—and his mind seems overfull with belief, distrust, wonder, and maybe a little unfulfilled longing. He catches the look on her face at one point over dinner. She hears the half-thought: _she’s sad_ — _why?_

“Perhaps, if you would be so kind,” Grindelwald begins, setting his fork on the edge of his plate, “We could have a verbal conversation rather than a silent one?” Aury—she’s rethinking the nickname already—doesn’t immediately meet the one-half-mutated pair of eyes looking at him; he must have gotten used to keeping his eyes down through the years. Where trouble is all Aurelius knew as Credence Barebone, power and authority are old friends with Grindelwald. She’ll try something more gentle than the last question.

“How’s the food, then?” _Smile. Remember to smile._

  Grindelwald takes her lead, though she thinks he’s like an adult indulging a child—not far from the truth, really—when he says, “I can’t remember the last time I had so good a meal with friends.”

  His brown eyes find her own with their gaze, not so comfortable with this approximation of a “dinner with friends”, but he’s not wanting to be rude, so he says quietly aloud, “It’s very nice.”

   Another smile, as close to brilliantly beaming as she can, responding: “Oh, you mean it?”—she knows he does; he did his best, but there’s no hiding how he’s starved with a feast to be had—“Thank you!... Um, I was thinkin’... What should I call you?”

  Grindelwald goes still, holding his breath for the answer. If he didn’t block her, Queenie wonders if she wouldn’t hear him thinking this was a measure of how much trust the youth placed in Grindelwald’s answers. Queenie and Grindelwald hang on the silence that isn’t immediately resolved.

“I’m Aurelius Dumbledore, aren’t I? ‘Credence Barebone’... belongs in the past.”

  Grindelwald doesn’t seem as relaxed by Aurelius’ decision as Queenie is. “Good for you—I like Aurelius. It’s noble. Wasn’t there an emperor named Marcus Aurelius?”

   Two very differently colored eyes glance at her; “It’s weird what stuff I hear sticks and what doesn’t,” she says by way of explanation, waving a hand by the space between her temple and her ear. There’s a ghost of a smile on Grindelwald’s lips—she thinks it might be genuine. Aurelius doesn’t voice his surprise but he asks silently: _Really?_

“Really. I don’t remember for sure, but he was a good one, I think,” Queenie answers, “A philosopher, maybe.”

“In Latin, it’s a name meaning ‘golden’ or ‘gilded’,” Grindelwald supplies.

  Aurelius smiles—she’s never seen an expression so fragile; his grasp on happiness is so tenuous she wants to find ways to feed it, make it strong.

  Maybe strong enough to make it through the coming war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I think Queenie knows what she signed up for. I don't necessarily like it, but she's her own woman and can make her own (bad) decisions. Whether Credence is really a Dumbledore or not (*tin-foil hat mode* he's just too young to be a Dumbledore sibling... maybe he's Aberforth's son?) I think shedding the name Mary Lou gave him would be important to him. Besides, who doesn't like a family history of 'A' names, an emperor's name, or 'golden' as a name meaning?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last snippet then!

  Vinda arrives back to Nurmengard castle after night falls and both Queenie Goldstein and Aurelius are safely ensconced in their rooms. Grindelwald regards his interaction with the youth as he appointed him a room while staring into the flames laid into the hearth before him:

  Concealed behind a dozen layers of quiet wonder, Aurelius had seemed, at first, to think Grindelwald would grab the collar of his shirt and tug him out to some other smaller room. He remained in the doorway and watched the tentative inspection of all the finery within: fingertips brushing along the dark woodgrain of the dresser, dark eyes glossing over the reflection in the wide mirror above, an odd little move as his shoes touched the edge of the rug under the bed, skirting it to perhaps save the threads below the dirt from his shoes. The bed, as wide as a carriage and hung with heavy silk-embossed curtains, seemed so foreign to Aurelius that he only stood at the end, too far to touch the rich duvet, looking. The fireplace was next, and Grindelwald had a moment where he was unsure if Aurelius meant to crowd so close to the flames that he might singe his clothes, until he realized the youth was warming himself. The Second Salemers church had been a cold, drafty place, void of nearly any comfort found in a regular home; the boy who had been Credence Barebone might never have been so warm until that moment.

“There is a water closet behind that door,” he had said, nearly startling Aurelius in breaking his silence, “I can fill the tub and heat the water, if you’d like a bath. In the dresser are clothes that should fit for after.”

  Aurelius nodded, just one small jerk of his head down and up again. He watched from the doorway as Grindelwald filled the tub with an inaudible  _ aguamenti _ . One flick of the Elder wand and steam curled up from the surface of the water, and the menial task was done. Aurelius looked on with thinly-veiled envy. “Tomorrow, we’ll begin your training with the wand I gave you,” Grindelwald promised. He stepped past Aurelius—there was a feeling of trust setting into the youth’s shoulders. Lingering in the doorway to the hall only a moment longer, Grindelwald added before pulling the door behind him: “Goodnight, Aurelius.”

  Vinda gently pulls his attention back to the present with the sound of his name. She is between him and the fire. “Is it done?” he inquires. She nods, following the action with the words, “I put the house-elves to work in the kitchens and the lower floors. The word is spreading already. I believe, when you are ready, your followers will flock to the castle.”

  Grindelwald closes his eyes, some peace taking over after what felt like a marathon day. Vinda lets him control the silence, which he only breaks when he thinks she assumes he’s fallen asleep. “There is more to discuss,” he says. She’s eager to hear it, obviously, and he bids her to sit in a conjured chair to his side.

“He accepts his new identity and wants to be called Aurelius,” Grindelwald shares. Vinda leans on the arm of the chair, conspiritally closer—she does not interrupt him. “Miss Goldstein has his trust, and with her help, I’ll secure it too. He’s wanted a loving family, and we are not so far from that.”

  Vinda smiles, knowing there is a kernel of truth in the statement, knowing that Grindelwald is not so sentimental. “Will he fight for you?” she asks.

“Perhaps,” he says, thinking, “If I can win his allegiance, I expect Dumbledore will not be able to oppose me. I’ve promised to start teaching him tomorrow.”

  From the edge of the room, he hears: “Uh, Gell—I mean, um, Mr. Grindelwald…?” Vinda turns, surprised and perhaps ready to strike. He’s known the legilimens has been in the shadows of the hall since he said her name; known that what he says might push her away or draw her in closer. She steps into the light, expression troubled, clad in a pink robe—candied confection in an otherwise dark parlor. “You may call me Gellert, if it makes you comfortable,” he says, an offering he’ll make for the sake of cultivating stronger ties. Vinda’s gaze cuts to him, perhaps jealous, perhaps aware of his motivation.

  Queenie smiles—she must know that her expressions do little to hide how she truly feels—but she’s nervous. “What is it, Queenie?” he presses with as much delicacy as he can.

“That vision you showed us at the Lestrange vault… Is that really what’s gonna happen?” She’s chosen this question carefully. He chooses his response likewise, “Only if we can’t stop it.”

   Grindelwald watches the grim determination take the place of momentary horror. She might have started down this path with him for the love of her Muggle, but that rejection of her before she stepped through the ring of Grindelwald’s fire only pushed Queenie further into it. She wants another reason to stay, one not tied to regret.

“What time do we start tomorrow?”

  He can’t help smile that twists his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
